#sick!brad

More often than not, when Brad returned home from tour, he fell sick in (usually) a matter of hours. It was often nothing more than a common cold, though often left him bed-ridden for a few days.

“How’s your throat?” 

He took the hot mug from your fingers, relishing the way the burning liquid soothed his equally burning throat. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. “Peachy.”

You smiled as you slipped onto your side of the bed, fingers brushing through his curls as he sipped at his tea. “Yeah, I made sure to put your stupid honey in there.”

He managed a rather pathetic smile, though it was a smile nonetheless. He waved a dismissive hand, gaze returning to the show he’d been binge-watching since he landed. 

“Oh, come on, can’t I spend some time with my boyfriend?”

He coughed and mumbled a raspy, “You’ll get sick.”

“Brad, I don’t care if I get sick. I haven’t seen for you almost three months.” Pausing, you offered a (somewhat) teasing, “I’ll let you be the little spoon.”

You knew the moment he’d given in.

He released a half-hearted sigh and set his tea down, waiting for you to fall under the covers before bringing you closer. He was overtly warm, enough that you had to kick your socks off to even consider keeping a blanket on. 

It wasn’t long before he was cuddled into your arms, fingers delicately tracing through his hair and lulling him to sleep with your heartbeat. Despite his love for music, it was undeniably his favorite sound. 

Less than a week later, you awoke with a terrible cough and the feeling as if you’d never be able to breathe again. 

Brad’s word of advice? “I told you that you’d get sick if you cuddled with me.”